


Another Time, Another Place

by ilcuoreardendo



Series: Another Space and Time (Star Wars fics) [32]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Confusion, Fluff and Angst, Force Shenanigans (Star Wars), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hope, M/M, Memories, Pre-Relationship, QuiObi if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: Sometime after Mustafar, Obi-Wan opens his eyes and finds himself somewhere else.He can hear his master’s voice and not just in the Force. He can feel him in the room, the large warmth of his presence.This dream is better than any reality he’s been tasked with facing these last few years.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Another Space and Time (Star Wars fics) [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/793845
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Another Time, Another Place

**Author's Note:**

> Posted first at my [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Prompted by the music meme: _Put your music player on shuffle. Write to the end of the song. Switch to a new story/idea when the next song starts._
> 
> I thought it had a bit of an October/Halloween feel to it.

* * *

_Close your eyes_   
_Fly back there with me_

\- “Seven Shades of Blue,” Beth Nielsen Chapman

* * *

  
“Obi-Wan.”

There’s a hand on his face. Big and warm, with callouses on the thumb and along the palm from years holding a lightsaber.

“Obi-Wan.”

The voice in his ears his familiar. It’s been 13 years since he last heard it. The depth and timber of it, the warm, soft roll of the vowels is like a balm.

“Wake up, Obi-Wan. Please.”

He doesn’t want to wake up.

He can hear his master’s voice and not just in the Force. He can feel him in the room, the large warmth of his presence; his master always seemed to run a few degrees hotter and there were many missions where Obi-Wan appreciated that. He can smell him, clean linen and traces of Temple-issue soap and the oil he uses on his beard every night.

This dream is better than any reality he’s been tasked with facing these last few years.

“Master Qui-Gon, will he be all right?”

Obi-Wan knows that voice too. But it’s too young, too innocent, to be his padawan. His padawan who he left writhing and screaming in pain and rage on the burning soil of Mustafar.

Grief swells in his chest, hot and sharp as a vibroblade, and he opens his eyes.

Qui-Gon’s face shimmers into focus above him; the smile he wears reaches his eyes. “Welcome back, Padawan.”

_Padawan?_

“Obi-Wan, you’re okay!” The face of the 9 year old boy peering up at him from the side of his bed is innocent and guileless, confused and afraid.

But not nearly as much as Obi-Wan. He feels his heart skip a beat. He brings his hand up to his mouth and—finding only smooth skin where once had been a beard—then to his head, running his fingers through hair that’s cropped short. Dropping his hand to his right shoulder, he finds the padawan braid lying on his chest, copper hair and achievement beads in red, yellow and silver glowing stark against his white tunic. A medical tunic. He’s spent enough time in healer’s wings to recognize them by feel alone.

Qui-Gon cups Obi-Wan’s face in his palm, thumb drawing a line down his cheek. And oh, that touch is familiar and welcome.

“Don’t speak,” Qui-Gon said. “You’ve only just come out of the bacta. I thought I lost you to the Sith. You ran ahead. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

Obi-Wan’s head swims and he breathes out as if he’s taken a punch to the solar plexus.

He locks eyes with Qui-Gon. There are a million questions he wants to ask, all of them starting with “how.” But his voice won’t cooperate. All he can do is sit here and enjoy the warmth of his master’s hand against his skin and the bright, untarnished light of the boy at his side.


End file.
